Blood: A new perspective on Ink
by EntropicSoul
Summary: This story is based on the independent film INK. It tells the story of another soul after his departure from the land of the living. His name is Blood. He has a bit of a different perspective than Ink...
1. Chapter 1

**Blood**

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_Chapter 1_

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This was his moment. Time ceased to progress as if it were being withheld by his strength of will alone. Finally, he was at the precipice of eternity. He now stood before one of the many portals along the Invisible Path. It appeared as a strangely border-less window that simply dissolved into the surrounding darkness along each edge. Through this door he could vaguely see the dimly lit cathedral of the Incubi, with a single spotlight shining down at its epicenter. The highlight of the room, the claw-footed white porcelain bathtub, reflected the spotlight's eerie luminescence. This sacrificial site was meant as a test of courage and devotion, but it caused only a slight smirk to cross his face as he knew he had no grounds for worry. As he drew in one last breath of anticipation, time began to stray from its infinite stillness. With one pale hand he slowly extracted his key from one of many silver-buttoned pockets. In stark contrast to his deathly white skin, every vein within him stood out as pitch black rivers that have long since stopped flowing. With inhuman swiftness, his fingers danced along the key to the appropriate rhythm, and suddenly he was there.

Jimmy awoke peacefully. His eyes slowly opened to gaze up at a small red stain on the cement ceiling; the same red stain and the same cement ceiling that they had seen every morning for the past several months. His current residence was much smaller than he was accustomed to. Before, he might have awoken to a crystal clear view through the glass wall of his master bedroom, filling his well-rested eyes with a picture of a mountain sunrise through the aspen trees. Somewhat less beautiful was the dismal wall, which he guessed was originally painted white at some time, as viewed through the rusted metal bars that replaced his cedar wood door. The only semblance of variety that greeted his stare of boredom was the pattern of cracks that riddled this wall. And so it was on this particular morning, he awoke to outdated artificial lighting and a view only of a red stain.

"What manner of weapon could have caused this stain?" He thought to himself, "only a practiced killer could cause such projection from a shiv wound, but no less than an artist could create a perfectly circular blood stain. And on the ceiling, of all places." As he had done every morning, he pondered endless scenarios in which this might have occurred.

"Perhaps the method is of minimal importance," he thought as he attempted to live inside the mind of his new friend, the blood artist who undoubtedly had long since been executed. "What really matters is the reason. Why would I want such a stain in my own cell? Perhaps the motivation was simply to leave a signature; after all, I never heard of a painter who left his masterpiece unsigned. Yes. That must be it; one last work to leave behind for his admirers." He smiled in respectful appreciation as he realized that this stain was left just for him.

To anyone else, this unusual red stain might have been quickly passed over as insignificant on this particular day. It would have been forgotten; replaced with more important thoughts of reflection, regret, or despair. But to him, it was just another day. It made no difference to Jimmy that this was the last time his eyes would open to greet the inspirational stain. He lay there with the classic pose and rigidity of mummified remains. The prison guards feared him primarily for the abnormal way he slept, never moving more than a few inches and somehow maintaining this pose throughout unconsciousness. Or perhaps their fear might have instead originated from his many convictions.

Jimmy had been very busy before retiring behind bars. He had killed exactly 29 people before getting bored and turning himself in. Though most occurred within the last ten years, he had killed one person for every year he had been living. At his trial, he couldn't help smiling at the perfection of that number. He had made it easy for the judge, admitting to everything in detail. Though as he thought back on the event, the judge had curiously seemed a bit uncomfortable with the vividness of the details he provided. He still wasn't sure why. Perhaps this was partially the cause for his denial of Jimmy's request to retain his leather-banded charm necklace within the prison walls. Jimmy's publicly appointed lawyer had halfheartedly attempted to pass it off as religiously significant, but he didn't blame the lawyer. It was the judge who seemed to have a problem with his necklace. It seemed absurd to disallow him the necklace simply because it was taken from one of Jimmy's victims. He missed that necklace; leather takes such a beautiful color after being soaked in blood.

The prick of needles being inserted into his cephalic veins brought his mind back to the present. A man was asking if he had any last words. He thought about this for a moment as he stared at the man. Just like everyone else, the man seemed uneasy under his piercing gaze. After a short consideration, he replied in his characteristically calm and slow voice with precisely enunciated words.

"I'll see you in a little while. It has been great fun." And he imagined that his corpse would maintain a lingering grin for the adoring crowd as the drugs began to take effect.

And suddenly, he was there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blood**

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_Chapter 2_

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His smile was diminished with slight confusion as the cathedral faded into existence before him. He had expected an eagerly awaiting assembly of the most accomplished Incubi, but was surprised to see not a single glance in his direction. Every pair of eyes that should have been fixed on him was instead focused on a strangely calm victim. He decided to assess the situation before drawing potentially unwanted awareness to his presence. The infamous leader of the assembly slowly approached his patiently waiting sacrifice.

The assembly was mostly made up of prideful souls; selfishly minded sinners who enjoy themselves too much to even question their morality. Their eyes no longer shrouded the predatory longing that consumed them. The intense light which now emanated from their eyes was enough to startle any who looked upon it. Most choose to wear a Watching Glass, which was able to dim this effect enough for them to remain undetected. He could see the glass slowly warp under the heat from their constant stare. But their leader was different. Though he wore the same slim-fitting pitch black suits of the incubus, his was impossibly seamless as if it were actually composed of shadow. His black hair was perfectly slicked back, further highlighting his pale face. He silently walked toward the woman with the confidence of an alpha wolf closing in on its crippled prey. The surrounding assembly followed his gaze, eagerly awaiting the kill.

The object of their gleeful attention was a young woman who was peacefully staring into the darkness that filled the alpha's eye sockets. As he began to stare with them, a sudden flash of movement caught him unaware. The alpha had closed an impossible gap in a moment and now stood with one hand firmly grasping the knife that was now buried deep in the woman's abdomen. He hadn't even seen the glimmer of a blade before it was all over.

With a satisfied smile, the alpha turned away from the dying woman to his next victim. The little blonde girl, he knew, must have been the original sacrifice.

"Typical desperate fools," he silently criticized, "They would kill anything just to love themselves a little more. It's truly a disgrace to the act. There's a much deeper meaning to murder than they will ever understand."

As the leader of the assembly reached for the little girl, she let out a surprisingly loud roar which surprised every incubus in attendance. The alpha hesitated. Then he plucked the girl off her feet and began to carry her away to the bathtub that had claimed so many souls before hers. The insignificant wretch that had previously not merited his attention collapsed to his knees. This was the man who had brought such interesting sacrifices to the assembly. Just another suicidal soul trying to feel like a success at any cost. He looked upon the man with some surprise as he seemed to be conversing with the dying woman whom he had just condemned.

The hungry eyes of the Incubi were eager for another death, and so were oblivious to the kneeling man. Seeing an opportunity for both enjoyment and personal gain, he grinned and finally moved into action. He crept through the shadows, easily avoiding detection even among a congregation of evil-doers. As he moved further into the room, he could vaguely hear the woman's last words.

"You see now, John. You see now."

It was just as he suspected. John was not a name of this world; whoever this dying woman may have been, she had somehow reminded this lost soul of who he was in life. He knew this could only lead to one of two outcomes. The man who was John could return to wallowing in whatever tragic life he had led and fail the assembly, dooming himself to wander as a member of neither good nor evil. Or, he could embrace his true self and rebel into self-evolution. He hoped it was the latter, as it would present a better show, but either one would do. Crouched in darkness no more than a few meters away from the man who was John, he waited for the choice to be made.

In retrospect, the man probably chose wisely. After all, the assembly's excessive pride forced them into condemnation of any apparent display of weakness. Even as an act of war, the bravery of the man who was John would gain the respect of the assembly as they slaughtered him. The man rose with an obvious sense of purpose and drew from within his tattered robes a curved dagger for each of his hands. John's loathing eyes were fixed completely on his target; the worst and most powerful of the Incubi would be the first to die. He assumed a runners stance and quickly took a sprinting step towards the manifestation of his pain.

The man who was John was able to take three strides before being overtaken. With one hand outstretched in preparation for a killing blow, the man who was John found himself surprisingly unable to continue forward. A strangely surreal force around his neck seemed to be keeping him in place. The alpha Incubus turned in reaction to his assailant who would have been successful had he not been prematurely halted. Staring into the expressionless blackness of the alpha's eyes, the man who was John dropped the knife that had been so tightly clutched in his right hand a moment prior. In confusion, he reached up with this hand to determine the cause of his sudden failure.

His fingers met surprisingly with his own flesh. How could he have been prevented if nothing held around his neck? The man who was John attempted to look around in confusion, and it was then that he realized his fate. He was not, in fact, being held around his neck at all, but through it.

He didn't bother looking at the man who was John. Through the black spider web of veins in his eyes, he calmly stared into the face of the alpha Incubus. The entire assembly of Incubi had now become aware of his presence after a most spectacular entrance. The alpha himself finally acknowledged him standing alongside the man who was John, his left arm extended into the bone-white, inversely curved blade of the knife that now laterally penetrated the man's neck. At this precise moment, he made one decisive forward lunge with his outstretched arm, bringing the knife's edge erupting forth from just under the man's Adam's apple.

The brutality of his killing shocked even the alpha Incubus, and he reveled in the ensuing cacophony emanating from the assembly. Covered in the man's blood, the alpha reluctantly turned his empty eyes back to him. He smiled as he saw the alpha's face. After a moment's thought, the alpha Incubus parted his blood-spattered lips to address his savior. He wasn't interested in gratitude. With one swift movement, he rewarded the blood thirst of his ivory knife with a fresh taste. The alpha Incubus stared up at him in surprise and immense hatred as he attempted to remove the knife from his chest. He permitted this, and promptly stabbed the alpha again to discourage further protest.

A deafening silence filled the room. No Incubus dared to move, simply standing in place as if their hive mind mentality had just been destroyed. He felt the warm blood of three separate bodies mingling together under his bare feet, and took a minute to simply savor the moment. Then it was time for business. He slowly raised his eyes to greet his assembly, making sure to carefully appraise each member before moving on. And for the first time since his death, he spoke.

"You answer to me now. You will call me. . . Blood." And with his proclamation faintly echoing throughout the dismal cathedral, he turned to face the girl in the tub.


End file.
